


Post Break-Up Sex

by femalegothic



Series: Hit Shuffle [1]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Porn With Plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:13:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27274738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femalegothic/pseuds/femalegothic
Summary: “Whatchu never had breakup sex before?”“I’ve never broken up before.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not even broken up now.” She holds her hand up to show the proof sitting right on her ring finger.“Nah,” he smirks and takes her hand in his, “I think you’re pretty broken up. That’s why you’re here poundin’ drinks in some low-level plug’s kitchen instead of at home in bed with your fiance.”———FKA Hit Shuffle
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: Hit Shuffle [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2040217
Comments: 56
Kudos: 227





	Post Break-Up Sex

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by "Post Break-Up Sex" by The Vaccines. 
> 
> The song playing at the beginning is "Krippy Kush" by Farruko, Bad Bunny & Rvssian. This is a nod to my Floridian party girl days.
> 
> \---  
> AU ages:  
> Beth - 28  
> Rio- 24  
> Annie - 19
> 
> Ruby is NOT in this chapter because she would NEVER let Beth do what she does. Annie, on the other hand, is off engaging in stupid shenanigans of her own.

Beth feels light-headed. 

She’s not sure if it's from the crying or the alcohol or the musky smoke from the various weed-smoking devices (A bong? A bowl? A blunt?) circulating the room. It’s probably a mix of all three. Not that it really matters what exactly is making her woozy—there’s nothing she can do about it anyway. She can’t unbreak her own heart or undrink the four glasses of bourbon she’d downed before Annie found her crying on her kitchen floor. And unless she wants to be alone in downtown Detroit at two a.m., there’s no escaping the smoke either. 

So there’s really nothing for her to do but get comfortable on a stranger’s couch and keep drinking her sorrows away—at least she’s not alone or on the floor anymore. 

The ring glitters on her finger in the dim light. It’s beautiful—simple and elegant. Beth always admired it, always hoped that one day she might wear it. But now that it’s sitting pretty on her left-hand ring finger, she wants nothing more than to rip it off. It feels too tight, too heavy, too wrong, and she keeps imagining herself throwing down the garbage disposal just to hear the blades grinding against the platinum band. It would be a fitting end—a destroyed ring for a destroyed engagement. 

She won’t, though. It was his grandmother’s ring after all. 

If she’s honest with herself, she knows she won’t take it off. She’ll just drink away her hurt tonight, shove those feelings deep down inside herself, and tomorrow she’ll accept his apology. It was just a mistake, he said, a one time slip up. He loves only her. And she’s only ever loved him. And that’s reason enough to stay.

She twists the ring around her finger. It really is beautiful.

And so the ring will stay, and so will she, but first, she’s going to drink until she can’t remember why she wants to take it off. 

She doesn’t know anyone at this party besides Annie. And Annie doesn’t know anyone here besides Eddie—Weed Eddie, not ABC Liquor Eddie as Annie helpfully clarified on their way over as if Beth should know the difference. She didn’t know there even was _an_ Eddie. 

Yet here she is sitting in Weed Eddie’s living room, surrounded by Weed Eddie’s friends (and some of Weed Eddie’s weed), just a few hours after catching her fiance bending his dad’s assistant over their kitchen island.

It had only been two weeks since it even became _their_ kitchen island. Only four since Dean became her fiance. 

_No._ She’s not going to think about it anymore. Not tonight.

Tonight she’s done crying. She’s done with Dean and his grandmother’s ring, and she’s done feeling sorry for herself. She’s going to drink and party with Weed Eddie’s friends (maybe she’ll smoke some of Weed Eddie’s weed, too). And tomorrow she’ll sort her life out. 

Weed Eddie is talking to her, she thinks, or someone is at least, but she can barely hear his voice over the thumping bass. She’s never heard the song before, not that she’s heard much Spanish rap at all, but it’s catchy and playing at a volume just slightly too loud for the room, not blaring per se, but definitely overwhelming. It rings in her ears, drowning out everything but the low hum of conversation from the other partiers. 

She looks away from the ring and toward the curly-haired guy on her right. He’s offering her a hit from his blunt, which certainly seems like something someone called Weed Eddie might do. She considers it for a moment but shakes her head, a little disgusted at the prospect of putting her mouth on something so _communal_. He just smiles and shrugs, then turns away to pass it to someone else. 

Beth scans the room for Annie, but her sister is nowhere in sight. Of course, it’s just like Annie to ditch her at a party full of strangers to do god knows what. As she takes in the crowd of smiling faces—drinking and smoking and laughing—she wonders if maybe Annie’s got the right idea, maybe Beth should just lose herself in these strangers. It would be easy—everyone’s drunk or high enough not blink twice at a sad woman slipping into their midst. They’d just cheer and offer her a smoke, and maybe that’s what she needs right now. 

She sighs and throws back the rest of her drink. She’ll need another (or three) if she’s going to make it through the rest of the night. 

Weaving through the crowded apartment, Beth makes her way to the kitchenette for another Jack and (flat) Coke. It’s small and galley-style, and because it’s the furthest room from the living room, much quieter. She can still hear the music and the indistinct voices, but now she can also hear herself think. 

There are only three other people in the kitchenette—a couple practically fucking on the counter and a man leaning against the fridge texting lazily. 

Trying in vain to ignore the frantically gyrating pair on the counter, Beth focuses her attention on the man. He’s tall, good-looking, and blocking her path to the booze. The man looks so absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his phone that he doesn’t seem to notice the couple just a few feet from him—not even when the girl lets out a particularly loud whine. 

Beth, on the other hand, cringes.

Whatever he’s doing must be important, and she hesitates to interrupt when he seems so focused, but she really needs another drink. It’s not her fault he chose to post up in front of the fridge to do whatever it is that he’s doing. 

“Um... excuse me.”

He continues texting as if he hadn’t heard her. Maybe he hadn’t. So she repeats herself, louder this time, but he still doesn’t look up from his phone. Beth huffs, annoyed at this random man for rudely ignoring her when he’s the one in the way. 

“Hey,” she says loudly before shoving her hand in front of his phone. “You’re in the way.” 

The man’s head jerks up, glaring at her as he snatches his phone away from her. “The fuck is your problem?”

“My problem? You’re the one with a problem,” Beth glares right back at him. “You’re the one blocking the fridge and ignoring my very polite attempts to get your attention, which is very rude, by the way.”

“Oh, so you think it’s polite to go grabbin’ people’s phone, huh? Just ‘cause you said ‘excuse me’ a couple times first?”

“So, you _did_ hear me?” 

“Heard something, baby, but maybe you were talking to them,” he gestures to the couple on the counter, still grinding furiously. “If you want somethin’, you gotta ask for it.”

“Get out of my way then.”

He laughs at that, throwing his head back as if she’d said something funny. For the first time, Beth notices that the man has a rather large bird tattooed on his neck, its wings stretching nearly to his ears on both sides. Normally, she would have found such an ostentatious tattoo distasteful, but the man carries it well. It’s almost attractive in a way, or maybe it’s just the man himself is very attractive.

Attractive or not, he’s still in her way, so she keeps staring him down, willing him to move aside. 

“Damn, not polite at all,” he says but steps aside anyway, allowing her to open the fridge and grab the Jack and the nearly empty coke bottle. 

When she turns back around, the man has hoisted himself up on the opposite counter. She’s got his full attention now, his phone nowhere in sight. Glancing around the kitchenette for a spot to mix her drink, she realizes that he’s occupying the only available counter space in the whole kitchenette not currently being used for sexual activity. 

The man raises an eyebrow at her. “Need me to move again, darlin’?” 

The thing is, she does need him to move, but she doesn’t want to ask again. Something about his tone makes her think he deliberately placed himself in her way just to annoy her. Rather than give him the satisfaction, she rolls her eyes and tells him, “Nope,” popping the “p” for emphasis. 

He smirks as he watches her try to balance her cup, the Jack, and the coke as she mixes her drink. She struggles to open the bottles with one hand, but she manages to get all of the liquids into the cup and none on herself. Not confident in her ability to juggle the bottles, her drink, and open the fridge, she pulls the Jack and coke on the ground and just hopes no one trips over them.

When she looks back at the man, he’s still grinning in a very assholish manner, but Beth feels like she’s won something. She takes a triumphant sip of her drink, tipping her cup to the man before raising it to her lips. 

Suddenly, he slides down from the counter and steps forward to crowd her against the fridge. She nearly drops her drink, surprised by his sudden movement, but she squares her shoulders and holds her ground, unwilling to back off. They’re almost chest to chest, only separated by the cup held out in front of her. 

“You know,” he says, his voice low and gravelly, “Kinda rude not to offer me one, too.” 

She rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her drink, ignoring the way his deep voice sends a shiver up her spine. 

“‘Specially since you were so rude to me earlier. Thought a nice girl like you might wanna make it up to me, yeah?”

“I’m not that nice.”

“That right, sweetheart?” He wraps his fingers around her wrist and gently pulls her hand from between them, allowing him to close the distance. His eyes drop to her mouth, and for a moment, Beth is sure he’s going to kiss her and that she’s going to let him. His breath is warm against her lips, making her heart race. He leans even closer, his lips ghosting over her own as he speaks. “Bet you know a lot of ways to be nice, though. Bet you’re real nice when-” 

A loud moan cuts him off. 

Irritation shoots across his face, and he jerks away from her to grab the back of the guy’s shirt and pull him away. The girl squeaks with surprise and scrambles down off the counter, pulling her skirt down from around her waist. The guy struggles out of the man’s grip, yanking himself away with an indignant, “What the fuck!”

But when the guy turns to face the man, squared up and ready to fight, his shoulders immediately sag. He doesn’t look scared necessarily, just nervous like he’s about to be reprimanded at work. Sheepishly he rubs the back of his head, his eyes glancing between the man, his girlfriend (?), and Beth.

“Sorry, man,” the guy lets out an awkward laugh, “Didn’t mean to… uh... interrupt.” 

“Get out.” 

The guy doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs the girl and drags her out of the kitchenette, not stopping even when she stumbles over the Jack and coke bottles. Beth presses her hand to her mouth to stop herself from laughing, but she really can’t help herself. A peel of laughter escapes her lips just as the couple disappears back into the hallway. The man is frowning when he turns back to her, and she laughs even harder at how serious he looks, but it’s not long till he joins her, barking out a laugh of his own. 

And so they laugh together for a moment. His laugh is wonderful, full-bellied and deep, and she feels like she could listen to it forever. 

Wiping a tear from her eye, she manages to snicker out, “So what was that all about?”

The man cocks his head to the side and raises his brow like he’s not sure what she’s talking about, despite the shit-eating grin still on his face. 

Beth gestures at the doorway with her cup, “Why’d that guy run out of here like he just remembered he left his oven on?”

“‘Cause I told him to.” The man moves to close the distance between them.

“And everyone just does what you say?” Her voice comes out breathy, and a little high pitched because he’s suddenly so close again. She jumps at the touch of his hand, his fingers wrapping around hers and the cup.

“He does, yeah.”

“What are you his boss?”

“Somethin’ like that.”

Beth opens her mouth to press further, wondering what on earth he means by that, but he cuts her off. 

“You engaged?” he asks, lightly running his finger across the ring as he pulls the cup from her hand.

Oh. She’d forgotten about the ring. She shrugs, “I guess.”

“You don’t know?”

She signs and shakes her head. “Not anymore.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you.” Not just him, she doesn’t want to talk about it with anybody—not with her sister, not with Ruby—nobody.

He pauses for a moment, pursing his lips as he considers her. “Wanna fuck it out?”

Heat rushes to her face and she scoffs loudly, struggling even to begin to respond to such a ludicrous (and tempting) suggestion.

“W- what?” she eventually stutters out, flailing her hands around as if she can swat his words away from her. “I don’t even-” Her face burns at the thought of having sex with him, or really, the thought that she _wants_ to have sex with him. “How dare you.”

“Chill, darlin’, I’m just offerin’.” He shrugs casually as if he didn’t just offer to fuck her.

Beth just stares at him, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

“Whatchu never had breakup sex before?”

“I’ve never broken up before.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I’m not even broken up now.” She holds her hand up to show the proof sitting right on her ring finger. 

“Nah,” he smirks and takes her hand in his, “I think you’re pretty broken up. That’s why you’re here poundin’ drinks in some low-level plug’s kitchen instead of at home in bed with your fiance.”

“You don’t know me,” she says, staring up at him with what she hopes is a defiant look and yanking her hand back. “Maybe Weed Eddie is my, uh, plug.”

“Uh-huh.” 

“Let’s say I am broken up, which I’m not,” she begins, letting herself consider it, “how would this ‘breakup sex’ work?”

He laughs again, shaking his head, “It’s just regular sex, darlin’. We just go into the bathroom and fuck.”

“If it’s just regular sex, then why should I do it?” 

“Helps you forget your ex,” he whispers as he tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Beth swallows hard. He’s looking at her so intensely that she feels she might burn up from the heat of it. She wants to look away, to turn away from the apparent desire in his eyes, but she doesn’t want to lose—not to him—doesn’t want him to know just how much he’s affecting her.

And she wants it— _him_ —so badly that she can’t even think of the obvious reasons why she shouldn’t do it. She racks her brain, desperate for some semblance of rational thought, but she finds none. All she can think about the warmth of his fingers on her face, the firm press of his body against hers, and wetness pooling between her thighs. 

“Okay.”

He grins.

***

They make out for a long time and all Beth can think about is how hot it is. She really doesn’t understand how what they’re doing could be so incredibly hot because they’re just kissing, just regular french kissing like she’s done a million times before. She’s had sex before, like really good sex—orgasms and all—but somehow kissing this man she barely knows in Weed Eddie’s bathroom feels like the absolute hottest thing she’s ever done. Her brain spins from the alcohol, and she can’t stop thinking about the heat of his tongue in her mouth, the weight of his hand on her waist, and the fact that there’s a party raging out just outside the door. 

Every knock on the door makes her, somehow, wetter. 

He’s pushed her dress up around her hips and yanked open its wrap neckline to expose her breasts, but he’s made no attempt to remove her underwear or take off any of his clothes. Instead, he’s pressed himself fully against her, grinding against her _hard,_ and it’s so insane how good it feels. 

She’s never done anything like this before—never had sex in public, never had sex with a stranger, never even thought about doing it—but now that it’s happening, she very certain she’s been missing out. Just the feeling of his cock through his jeans has her trembling and clutching at his back. He grinds down hard, shifting his hips at just the right angle, and suddenly her whole body buzzes and jerks as she sort of cums—warm pleasure washing over her but leaving her unsatisfied and itching for more. 

Shoving him away just enough to get her hands between them, she makes quick work of his belt and zipper before shoving her hand into his pants. He grunts into her mouth as she strokes him through his boxers. 

“If you want somethin’, you gotta ask for it, baby.”

“Fuck me.”

“That’s not very polite,” he says mockingly. “Ask for it.”

“Fuck me, please.”

He pushes her hand away and flips her over, pressing her down onto the counter. She shivers, partially from the cold laminate surface on her bare breasts, but mostly from the way he yanks her underwear down around her knees. She struggles to kick them off, getting her foot caught awkwardly and nearly sliding herself off the counter in the process. 

They both laugh as he steadies her, his big hand holding her down while he untangles her underwear from her ankle. She looks ridiculous with her chin pressed to the counter and her ass up in the air, but the way he’s smiling at her makes her heart flutter, and suddenly, she feels like she’s never looked sexier.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other in the mirror. Then, slowly, his eyes drop, and she watches him take in her body. He runs his hands up her thighs and over her ass, stopping to give her a little squeeze before pushing her dress further up. It’s sort of odd, watching him watch himself touch her, but at the same time, seeing the look on his face when he first slides a finger into her has her clenching around him hard. 

“You always this wet?” He pushes another finger in. “Or is it just for me?”

“I’m always this wet,” she states, unwilling to admit she’s never been more turned on in her life. He knows she’s lying; she can see it in the twitch of his mouth. 

“That right?”

“Yeah.” It comes out more breathless than she hoped, but his fingers are so deep inside her she can feel his rings. They’re cool against her hot skin as he moves in and out. 

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly her orgasm builds—with just a few pumps of his fingers, she can already feel her stomach twisting. Her legs nearly give out when his thumb presses firmly against her clit, circling a couple times as he slips in a third finger. Just as she’s about to break, he pulls out and drops to his knees, but before she even has a chance to protest, he’s got his _tongue_ inside her. 

She yelps, knocking her head against the mirror in surprise. He grabs her hips firmly and yanks her back, shoving his tongue deeper. Her head spins, and she wonders if she actually concussed herself because all she can’t focus on anything but the feeling of him licking and sucking and fucking her with this tongue. His mouth is hot on her and his beard scratches at her skin in a way that’s making her delirious with pleasure. 

Reaching back, Beth grabs at his head, raking her nails through his close-cropped hair. 

“You taste so good, ma,” he says, lips still pressed against her, “Could eat you forever and never feel satisfied.” 

_God,_ the noises she’s making right now. All she can hear is her own moaning and panting mixed with the wet sound of his tongue against her echoing off the tiles. It’s so hot she can barely stand it. 

When she cums on his mouth, it’s a full-body experience. It twists her stomach and sends fire coursing through her veins. She can feel it—pulsing and tingling—from her spinning head to her curling toes. Her eyes water, and she knows she’s crying out even if she can’t hear it over the ringing in her ears. 

His mouth is still on her as she comes down, still licking languidly at her clit. She shudders, overstimulated, but too dizzy to push him away. Her brain is scrambled and her knees are jelly and she slumps onto the counter, pressing her flushed cheek against its cold surface. 

He bites downon her ass cheek before moving away, chuckling a bit at her surprised gasp. She can feel him behind her, fiddling with his jeans and underwear as he frees himself, can feel his cock hot and heavy against her ass. 

Gripping her firmly by her hips, the man yanks her up onto her hands. He twists a hand into her hair, forcing her to look at him in the mirror as he drags his cock against her before pressing in, just enough that she can feel it, but not even close to deep enough. 

Beth watches him closely, taking in his furrowed brow and the way he bit his full bottom lip, but he’s not looking at her—at least not in the mirror. His eyes are glued to her backside, and even though she can’t see it, she imagines what it must look like to him—her wet and wanting with just the tip of his cock pressed inside her. 

Her body shakes with anticipation, waiting for him to sink in. But he doesn’t. He just stands there, watching her tremble. A frustrated groan escapes her lips, and his eyes snap to hers. 

“You still want it?”

She’s tempted to say no, to deny him, to leave him hard and unsatisfied with only the taste of her cum on his tongue. But she just _can't_.

Instead of answering, she pushes back, easing onto his cock until her ass is flush with hips, grinning as he hisses. Even with all the foreplay, it burns. She’s never felt so full, never had anything this big inside her. She rocks back against him, setting a slow but steady rhythm as she struggles to get used to how he stretches her, how deep he can go. 

He lets her set the pace at first, just barely moving along with her. His hands are everywhere, running along her ass and back before slipping beneath her to grab her breasts, squeezing her nipples each time she takes him all the way. Just having him inside her feels insane, but it's not enough. She wants him to fuck her as hard and fast as he did with his tongue. She clenches around him as she pushes all the way back, taking him as deep as she can before turning to look at him.

“Fuck me.”

His hands fly from her breasts to her hips as he takes over, thrusting into her so hard she nearly hits the mirror again. His pace is punishing—harder and faster than she’s ever had. Each snap of his hips against her ass has her whimpering. 

God, it’s so wrong. She shouldn’t be doing this. But she so turned on—by him, by the semi-public nature of it all, by the fact she’s still wearing her engagement ring. She’s still, technically, engaged, but she doesn’t care at all because all she can think about is good he feels inside her. 

“Your fiance fuck you this good?”

“Y-yeah,” she chokes out, “he fucks me bet-” 

The man cuts her off by slipping two fingers into her mouth. He yanks her up off the counter and flush against him, his pace barely faltering. The new angle allows him to push himself deeper, so deep she can feel it in her stomach. 

“Yeah see, I don’t think he does.” He presses his fingers further until she gags on them. For a brief, delirious moment, she imagines herself choking on his cock instead. “If he fucked you good, baby, he’d be fucking you right now.”

The sight of them in the mirror is obscene. 

Watching herself suck his thick fingers as he fucks her from behind has her head spinning. She doesn't want to see herself like this, flushed and disheveled, but she can’t look away. It’s just so hot to see his fingers sliding between her swollen lips as he holds her chin in his hand, tasting herself on his skin. 

That sweet aching feeling starts building low in her stomach like her insides are twisting into knots. She can hear herself moaning around his fingers, but it sounds as far away as the music outside the door. Vaguely, she wonders if other people can hear them—if they can hear _her_ —crying out. 

“Wanna hear you when you cum again,” he whispers into her ear, sliding his fingers out of her mouth and around her neck. She grabs his arm, clinging to him as she cums, that same warmth rippling through her, igniting every nerve in her body. Her ring glints under the mirror lights, and it’s the last thing she sees before her vision blurs and her mind blanks.

As she comes down again, she watches him keep fucking her through half-lidded eyes. Even now, she doesn’t really look like the kind of girl who does this kind of thing—with her curled hair, her sensible sunflower wrap dress, and her beautiful engagement ring; she looks more like she’s on her way to church than anything else. She never in a million years thought she would be the type to let a stranger bend her over a bathroom sink.

But in the mirror, she can see the truth. She can’t pretend she’s not that kind of girl because she can see plain as day that she is. The proof is right in front of her, behind her, and inside her. Her hair is mussed where he grabbed it, her lipstick smeared from him fucking her mouth with his fingers, and her breasts hang out of her dress, bouncing with each thrust. And she can see him—his large hands on her neck and hip as he holds her up, his handsome face twisted with concentration as he fucks her. 

He bites her shoulder when he cums, hot and deep inside her, his hips stuttering through it. 

After a long moment, he slips out of her and steps back. Beth keeps watching him in the mirror as he tucks himself away, not bothering to clean their cum off his cock. 

Maybe it's because she’s drunk or because she’s heartbroken. Or maybe it’s because he’s the hottest man she’s ever seen. But she doesn’t give even a single fuck that she let him cum inside her. Even now, with post-orgasm clarity, the feeling of him dripping out of her makes her dizzy. 

She’ll regret it in the morning; she knows she will. She’ll freak out and cry and berate herself for being so reckless. 

But tonight, she’s going to bask in the thrill of it. 

She doesn’t want it to end. She’s not ready to leave this moment with him, to return to the mess of a life that awaits her. It’s not over yet—not for her. 

Instead of straightening her clothes as he had, she pulls loose the bow (barely) holding her dress together, letting it fall open. She sees him notice in the mirror—he licks his lips and settles back against the wall, content, it seems, to watch her too. Slowly she turns to face him, holding her dress open just enough so that he can get a good look—at the hickey on her neck, her breast still hanging over her bra, and the mess of them dripping down her thighs. She sits down on the counter and slides back, careful not to ruin the moment by falling into the sink. 

They stare at each other as she settles herself, arranging her body and clothes as best she can, making sure he can see all of her.

“Whatchu want, mama?” 

“I want you to watch me.” He swallows hard, the bird on his neck bobbing. His eyes drop from hers, tracing slowly down her body.

Reclining against the mirror, she spreads her legs for him to see as she slips her middle and ring fingers inside herself, pressing them in until she can feel the cool metal of her engagement ring against her entrance. She shudders, remembering how his rings felt when it was his fingers inside her. His cum leaks out onto her hand as she pumps her fingers in and out, pushing as deep as she can, but not nearly as deep as he had been. Now that he’s been inside her, her own fingers seem woefully inadequate—too thin and too short to really satisfy her, but she keeps going. Slowly she builds up her rhythm, keeping her eyes locked on him as she fucks herself. 

Still leaning against the wall, he’s watching her open-mouthed and slack-jawed. He’s looking at her hand, but his eyes are glassy and unfocused as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. He hardly moves at all while she fingers herself, his hands only twitching at his sides. But the second she cums, he’s on her, grabbing her wrist to pull her hand to his face and sucking her fingers into his mouth.

When he’s done licking her clean, he helps her straighten herself—pulling her bra up and retying her dress for her. Kneeling before her, he gently slides her underwear up her legs, stopping only to press a kiss to her knee. He cups her as he stands up, running his long fingers along the damp fabric. 

“Goin’ home to that fiance tonight?”

She nods, even though she’s not sure Dean will even be there. He grins and slips a single finger inside to feel his cum still leaking out of her.

“Don’t change your panties, yeah?” 

She nods again, and he brings his wet finger to her mouth, dragging it along her lips before surging forward to kiss her. His tongue is hot and slightly salty in her mouth, and his hands are everywhere. For a moment, she thinks they may never leave this bathroom. But then he breaks the kiss, and she realizes he’s got her phone in his hand. She lets him do what he wants with it, assuming he's adding his number and keeps kissing him along his jaw and neck. She sucks a hickey of her own right beneath his ear, just above the wing of his tattoo.

He groans and grabs her chin, turning her face up to look at him. He’s close, his mouth hovering just over her own. 

“Wanna taste you again real soon,” he says against her lips before sliding her phone back into her pocket and slipping out of the bathroom. 

The second the door closes behind him, Beth yanks her phone out and unlocks it. The messaging app is still open, and she sees he’s already sent himself a text—no words, just the sunflower emoji. He’s saved his number too. She touches the single word right at the top of the screen.

 _Rio_. His name is Rio.

Ignoring the sixty-seven unread texts, she locks her phone and shoves it back into her pocket, her ring catching on the fabric on the way out.

Right. Her ring—her engagementring. 

Holding her hand out in front of her, Beth studies the ring. She’s admired it a million times before, on her finger and Judith’s. The diamond glimmers in the soft bathroom light, and she really can’t imagine a more beautiful ring. But it isn’t her ring. Not anymore. And maybe it never really was. But at least now she knows. 

Beth slips the ring off her finger and into her pocket. With one last look in the mirror, she straightens her dress and rejoins the party.

**Author's Note:**

> Please, I am begging you, engage in safe sex. DO NOT let a stranger hit it raw, no matter how hot his neck tatt is. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr: @bethsuglywigs


End file.
